The Fallacy of Love
by OORANGEjooz
Summary: Tom Riddle is a boy who doesn't want to die. Andrea Velásquez is a girl who does. Somehow, they're friends. (Rated T for mature language WW2 holocaust mentions & suicidal themes. Discretion is advised)
1. prologue : love of my life

**WARNINGS: **

World War 2 holocaust references, mature language and _suicidal themes. _**_READER DISRECTION IS ADVISED._**

**A/N:** so, a few things to mention:

\- bare research, i am a lazy fuck so i shifted the timelines a bit

\- tom doesn't murder anyone before his fifth year

\- he's also overpowered

\- no, it is NOT my intention to idealize or romanticize fucking WW2.

\- romanitcizing abusive/manipulative relationships is also not my cup of tea so yes tom will be OOC

\- i don't own harry potter. JK Rowling does.

\- this is a crack fic taken seriously. enjoy!

* * *

Venice, Italy. 1947. The second World War had ended. Celebrations and festivities hung in the cold, nocturnal air. There was crowd of chatter and ease among the people, despite knowing that peace negotiations weren't easy. The fascist Prime Minister was dead and these people of Italy rejoiced. The allies had already begun rebuilding. The people were happy, relieved that there was no more fighting, no more hiding.

There was no longer the reeking scent of death and gunpowder in the air, no longer were the dried paints on protests and signs and marching, it was over.

A young handsome man clad in a cloak weaves through the crowd holding a bouquet of flowers, he ignores the stares of young women as he hurries up the _Ponte de Rialto_ bridge over the Grand Canal. Despite the sea of crowds, he spots someone immediately, as if seeing her for the first time again all those years ago. But she's not leaving this time. She's here, waiting for him—leaning against the railing of the bridge, staring at the night sky.

The corners of his lips twitching upwards, sauntering over and hugging her from her back, the flowers on her face.

The woman doesn't look back, she doesn't flinch or break away—instead, she lets herself melt in his arms and coffee-scented coat and flowers, all too familiar with him and every inch of him, she knows him, and he knows her.

"Those for me?" she asked, giving a lop-sided grin, the bouquet now in her hands.

"Who else?" his muffled voice asked, his head burying on her neck.

The woman laughed, setting the bouquet aside and turning around, his hands on her hips, their lips almost touching, warm eyes stare with nervous smiles on red ears and cheeks. They're not used to this. But they can learn to be. And they want to.

"Where to next?" she whispered.

The man merely mused, taking his time to reply as he watches her stare up at him, with the glistening canal behind her and the light of the moon with a distant lamp silhouette her. His love.

She stared up at him seeing his goofy smile and contemplating eyes as she awaits his answer. Her love. They'd travel around the world together, see the magic in different countries. They could go anywhere as long as they are with each other. Though he knows she'd always been dreaming of seeing the aurora borealis.

"Maybe Norway, I hear the northern lights are beautiful this year," he says, knowing she knows he planned that.

She pauses. For a moment. A wave of déjà vu flooded her senses. "I…"

Immediately, he knows. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, concerned as he pulled back. "Hey, look at me."

He placed his hands on her cheeks, "If you don't like the cold, it's fine. We can go to Asia next it you'd like."

Always so caring over the so little details.

She shook her head, "No, no, I can handle the cold. I survived that one blizzard in sixth year, didn't I?"

The man pursed his lips, hiding a smile with the prickling red on his cheeks and ears.

"Yes, I do remember us cuddling for the first time," he reminisces.

There were distant memories of emerald curtains and cushioned seats, of mahogany wood desks and cushioned seats and prickling fire, of parchment and ink under the musk of dust and old books.

The smile returned to her face, "So, Norway it is?"

"If anything ever happens, stay with me always. Even though I know you're capable—you're so needlessly reckless. Understand?"

His concern is so touching, it tugged the corners of her lips.

"As you wish, my lord," she playfully teased, holding his soft and gentle hand.

He gently pushed her. They laughed to themselves, their foreheads touching and barely seeing each other through fluttering lashes. They share a small kiss. A memory engraved in their hearts and souls.

He murmurs. Oh so quietly but so loud her heart would thrum in mellifluous melody. Three little words with big meanings.

"Happy birthday, Andrea."

"Thank you, Tom

Neither believe that they deserve this idyllic joy, but relish in doing whatever they can for other. For their beliefs be it known that the other deserves the world—not knowing they already have it.


	2. chapter i - different people

When he first saw the girl, plenty of thoughts filled his mind. She looks like her, sounds like her, but she doesn't remember him, so it couldn't possibly be her. But there was just something at the back of his head that tells him he was wrong. Though he simply shrugged it off, there was no point in making a mess over simple little things. No point. Not one at all.

Though this proved to be...difficult to ignore.

Andrea Velásquez was one of the many transfer students Hogwarts had been receiving because of the ongoing war. And over the past few months, Riddle found himself a rival.

She excelled well in her studies, all under the guise effortless skimming. Though of course she and Tom both know that guise is for appearances only. And while Tom was the paragon of an obedient, gentlemanly student under the eyes of the _majority _of the professors, Andrea had this persona of openness and nonchalance, and so far, had no major incident of her snapping despite a rumored brash, bold, and bad temper. All the professors (at least the notable ones) all sing and praise her—even Dumbledore. Not to mention her last name, which had made her transition into Slytherin society smooth enough to befriend majority of the Black family.

Unlike Tom, who had used his appearance, charm, and sensible personality as a way to have half of the school fall in love with him, and his magic to make those who doubt him stay under his feet. They are practically the same at face-value, except Tom excelled in his skill—and doesn't rely on his name.

He doesn't mind her, though. Because there was one thing Tom was sure of. She was afraid of him. She always avoided him like the plague. Their classroom conversation dry and stale, despite Slughorn's insistence that they partner. They were rivalling for Teacher's Favorites and that was it. So, when he encounters her outside of a classroom, he is surprised she hadn't jumped out the window yet.

"Velásquez," Tom Riddle greets with a charming smile.

She gave a tight smile in return, "Riddle."

"Our next subject is Charms, right? Would you mind to walk with me?" Riddle asks, head tilting and voice light and chipper.

"No thank you, I have to meet up with Euphemia," she replies. Euphemia Delacroix, another transfer student that Velásquez befriended. But fifth-year Ravenclaws have Care of Magical Creatures right now. She's lying. Is the little crow scared of a snake?

Riddle steps closer, "Well where would you meet?"

An open question. Andrea can't answer without seeming rude or brash. She pauses for a moment, knowing fully well he caught her lie. She had half the mind to jump out the window right now.

"The greenhouses," she tells the truth with faux-confidence.

"Why you'll be late the time you get back," he says, sounding obviously surprised. "Let's walk."

She stops, pursing her lips.

"I insist."

Why is he insisting?

"Alright," she accepted anyway. Denying would be rude, but why would she give a shit about what he thinks? Because he's a sensitive fuck who might _crucio_ someone for the smallest things—probably.

The two students walked down the hall in a reasonable pace. Andrea within two-feet a distance from him, she never looked at him, nor faced him, always looking through some window or admiring the architecture of the school. She was silent, as expected.

Students in the crowded hallways parted like the sea, to this, Tom observed how her behavior changed in front of other people. She stood straight and looked straight ahead, despite her being nervous before. Tom, on the other hand, stayed the same as always. The pair heard the whispers and mindless chatter forming on their borders. Tom didn't mind, it just shows how much influence he has. Andrea, however, was looming a dark glare towards the noises, Tom observes.

When they arrived at the classroom, they didn't talk.

* * *

Professor Merrythought entered Headmaster Dippet's office with uncertainty. There were a number of reasons for her being called, majority of them sat with unease in her mind.

"Professor, sit down, please." Dippet gestured at the empty seat across him.

She did so, silently. "What is it, Headmaster?"

The old man took a deep breath, "As you may know, majority of the Headmasters in European schools attended a commission concerning the war."

Merrythought had a curious look but stayed silent, letting the man explain.

"You know the commotion Potter stroke up to the Minister years back?" he asked.

"The late minister Evermonde? Potter said something about Wizards and Witches participating in the Great War, or the European War, or whatever muggles call it?"

The man sighed, leaning back on his chair. "Precisely, it seems that there is a _second _war this time around. And the majority of the commission suspected Grindelwald was behind it."

"With all due respect, sir, why did you call me here?"

"We received an influx number of transferees because of the both wars Grindelwald had started, Minister Fawley, requested all Defense teachers to change their lesson plan into something more hands-on," the Headmaster explained.

Merrythought was confused, shocked, and mildly outraged. "They're children!"

"Nothing too outlandish!" the Headmaster justified, standing up. "I don't want you casting Unforgivables, or cursing your students, but merely something simple such as dueling, perhaps."

The old woman leaned back on the chair, sighing, covering her face with her hand.

"These students need to learn how to defend themselves."

"I know."

* * *

The two girls, Euphemia and Andrea found themselves walking towards the Defense classroom. Euphemia often compared herself to Andrea. Both of them were the only fifth-year transferees. She can speak French as well, Euphemia found Andrea's accent cute.

Andrea was a star student. She was pretty as well, tanned skin, sharp black eyes with a sharper jawline, she was slim but had muscle, a perfect combination of masculine and feminine qualities. Eccentric, brash, and a good friend. Euphemia, on the other hand, blonde, borderline sickly-pale, child-like features—it was something Euphemia was conscious about but Andrea always had her way to boost her confidence.

"Daydreaming again, Euphy?" Andrea asked in English, a hint of her admittedly arousing Spanish accent through.

Euphy shook her head, feeling the heat on her cheeks, "I think I have a mild fever, I was just thinking about home."

"Marseille?" asked the brunette. "What's it like?"

Euphy made a face, "Andy, if I talk about it I'll get homesick."

"I'm homesick too, let's get homesick together!" Andy joked, making Euphy laugh.

"Marseille is…warmer than Scotland. It doesn't snow a lot," described Euphy. She subtly saw Andy twitch.

Despite the flash of uncomfortableness, she laughed, "Yeah, in Madrid it can get _really _warm in the summers. 40 degrees, I think."

"Doesn't it snow there?" Euphy asked, confused.

There it is again, "Yeah, it does. I don't really like the cold though," Andy off-handedly mentions, Euphy seeing her hand twitch.

Euphy instinctively wrapped her hands around Andy's. "Your hands are cold."

"More like your hands are warm," she says, not letting go and still smiling at Euphy.

A very adorable grin-wide smile that fit Andy perfectly, but it faded, why—

Andy let go and her hand made its way to Euphy's forehead. "You should probably go the infirmary. The fever might not be as mild as you think."

"It's fine! I'm just not used to the climate yet!" Euphy justified, in a somewhat outraged tone.

"Neither am I!" the tall girl shot back.

"Well my immune system isn't as strong as yours—" Euphy shut herself up, hands flying to her mouth.

There it is, a wide grin on Andy's face that practically screamed _'I caught you'_.

"Let's go to Madame Rhodes, you know how she is when people arrive too late," Andy said, passing by the Defense classroom and down the hall into the Infirmary.

"You're going to be late!" _and alone in Defense class_, the last part went unsaid in Euphy's mouth.

"It's okay, I can run."

And she did, immediately after Euphy is standing outside the infirmary. A concerned Madame Rhodes ushering her inside.

* * *

Professor Merrythought found herself calmly walking towards her classroom when she heard the echoing running of a student. She turned and it was none other than—

"Miss Velásquez," she greeted. Quite a surprise.

The young girl was panting and sweating, struggling to stand straight, "Ah—Professor, see—Euphy—Euphemia Delacroix can't quite come to class today, she has a fever, I escorted her to the infirmary."

The Professor merely rose a brow, "Tell her I'll be needing an excuse slip from Madame Rhodes."

Velásquez nodded and headed inside the classroom, once the Professor hears her take a seat, she strides inside.

"Good afternoon class. Take away the parchment, quills, and books, we'll be hands-on today. Side the chairs as well."

The students did as she said, taking them a second or so to do so.

"Two lines, by house. Slytherins on the left, Ravenclaws on the right," Merrythought commanded, gesturing as she said "Move!"

Thankfully these aren't first years who are shy and practically still toddlers. They moved quickly and orderly. Good. As Merrythought walked between the large gap of students, she scanned them at subtly sighed relief at the even number of students.

"Atwood with Black. Williams with Leslie. Jones with Avery..." she says, then pausing. "Well what are you waiting for? Go to your assigned partners!"

As the Professor was nearing at the end of the line, Andrea noticed there were two less Ravenclaws than Slytherins. This means that…and Riddle's—shit.

"…Velásquez with Riddle. Let's start with you lot."

Riddle has this shit-eating grin. She can't ask for another partner, can she?

Professor turned her heel and walked in front of the class, "As you wise and cunning students may already know, you will duel your partner. On my mark, you will start."

Is Andrea really doing this? Can't she fake sickness, lie about contracting Euphy's fever?

But Riddle is right there across her, wand in hand.

_Okay. Okay. Deep breaths, Andrea. Don't be obvious. Don't show you're nervous. Back straight. Chin up. This is just an over glorified version of rock-paper-scissors._

"Remember, no major injuries. No fighting to the death. Once one yields, the duel is over. Ready? Bow."

Riddle didn't bow, he just tilted forwards. Qué Cabrón.

"Rise."

Dodge, defend, attack? Stun, bind—

"Position."

Protego, Aguamenti, Glacio, Ferrum—

"Begin!"

* * *

**A/N: **que cabron - what a cunt. chapter title comes from 'different people' by no doubt, it's a great song. anyways, hoped you guys enjoyed the chapter, i'd really like to hear your opinions!


	3. chapter ii - teenagers

_Riddle didn't bow, he just tilted forwards. Qué Cabrón._

_"Rise."_

_Dodge, defend, attack? Stun, bind—_

_"Position."_

_Protego, Aguamenti, Glacio, Ferrum—_

_"Begin!"_

Riddle struck first—firing red straight at her, she barely manages to move aside, casting a shield before summoning water all over the floor. He looked down as the water turned ice, and in the moment Andrea jumped! And as she landed—glided across the room with blades on her feet.

"_Expelliarmus! Silencio! Stupefy!"_ she yelled one after the other—light bouncing off Riddle's shield.

As it cleared, she saw a scowl on his face as he struggled to stand still, "_Incendio!"_ He shouted, but her momentum on ice made her faster.

He melted the ice beneath him only, and with a barrage of spells came raining down on her. All non-verbal. Fucking showoff. They kept coming as her pace went faster.

_"Avis!"_ Out of her wand a flock of black birds swarmed his head. It didn't last long—

"_Confringo!"_ He hissed, slicing his wand through the air as the birds turned into black wisps_. "Serpensortia!"_

Snakes burst out and slid across the icy floor chasing her. _Jump, jump, jump!_ She jumped a triple axel and landing it perfectly with confidence in her veins—the snakes frozen in ice as she and Riddle met eyes.

_'You're not the only one who can show off' _her eyes said with a manic grin. "_Deprimo! Fumos!"_

The ground beneath him shook and sunk, he fell as he aimlessly shot spells at the fast-moving figure lost at the formed fog. Then he shot at the iced floor—shattering as it turned back to stone, hearing Andrea stumbling across the room, before getting up and vanishing the blades on her feet.

Riddle wasted no time, "_Diffindo!"_

_Mierda—Where did his dramatics go? Shit—move!_

She barely made it with a cut on her brow.

"_Flipendo!" _She shot back, missing—Fuck's sake!

He grinned, "_Flipendo Duo!"_

"_Flipendo Trio!"_

She made herself bend back as Riddle flew and hit the wall with his back. She cringed as she heard bones cracked. He fell to the floor—one of the ice shards cut his lip and brow. Okay, she's ending this.

When the dust cleared he raised his wand as she bolted towards the boy with his wand aiming at hers before letting her hand go of her wand and catching it with the other—seconds before his disarming charm hit an empty hand—she shoved her wand at his neck. She ignored the uncomfortable feeling of his wand on her stomach.

Neither moved, only the heavy breaths and pants, they held a still unwavering glare.

Then there was a cough.

"Riddle, Velásquez," called out Professor Merrythought. The two turned their heads and saw the students encircled around them. And one petrified student—Andrea's sure that was Riddle's fault.

"As entertaining your duel was, I suggest you two go to the infirmary," she drawled, making sure they know they were the only ones injured—surprisingly.

"Mind getting off me?" Riddle asked, hiding a scowl.

Andrea didn't say anything and merely stood back up, cracking and rolling her neck. The two headed for the exit, ignoring the murmur of the students behind them.

Riddle was heavily bruised and limping. Andrea was full of cuts and abrasions on her arms and legs, one particularly on her shoulder that was deep enough and didn't stop bleeding. Yeah, she needs to go.

* * *

The halls were almost empty as the two staggered across it. It wasn't like before when there were other students. It just seemed like that Velásquez was tired.

They made it to the infirmary and Madame Rhodes ushered the two inside and told them to sit down. She was grabbing a few potions and bandages and organizing the place in general.

"I'm impressed," Tom praised, "Where did you learn to duel?"

Velásquez gave a sideways glance, probably considering whether or not she should answer. "Rome," was her simple reply.

She…wasn't lying. "I thought you were from Spain," Tom stated.

"I am," she managed to gruff with Madame Rhodes healing her cuts.

When Tom didn't answer, it was clear that Velásquez would have to elaborate on that. "My uncle was from Italy. He was a duelist."

"Not your first time dueling is it?" he asked, seeming light and chipper.

She twitched, "No."

They met eyes as he saw memories of a young girl no older than five watch the shimmering rocky coasts of Rome reminiscent of the sandy beaches of Valencia, of vineyards and locked doors—

Velásquez looked away.

Curious.

It was now his turn for Madame Rhodes to coddle with bruise balms and the occasional _episke_y of the old lady's wand.

Velásquez stood and observed herself in the mirror, clearly bothered by the slit on her brow—a slit that Tom gave, it made a corner of his lips rise ever-so-slightly. She scoffed and headed out, Tom's gaze lingering, knowing that she knows he's watching.

Once Madame Rhodes was done he stood up and brushed the dust and dirt off of him. He looked at himself in the mirror and was satisfied with the clean cut appearance he got himself back to. Tom made his way out when he was greeted by three of his followers.

How…considerate of them to visit.

"Where did Velásquez go?" Tom asked, glancing around.

"The blonde Ravenclaw girl took her somewhere," answered the rather nonchalant Orion Black.

Abraxas Malfoy not-so-subtly elbowed him, "Delacroix took her to the library, is there anything you need from her?"

Tom thought for a moment, "No. But keep an eye on her."

"Is she important?" Black asked with no sense of poise or cautious tone.

Malfoy scowled, "Obviously, she—"

"She beat you in a duel," stated the often-quiet Edmond Lestrange.

Black and Malfoy stared at Lestrange as if a second face was stuck behind his head. Tom usually doesn't tolerate insubordination, but Lestrange's tone wasn't disrespectful or mocking, it was just false.

"As far as duels go, she's competent." Tom breaks the silence and uneasiness among them. "She's also hiding something. I trust that you'll find it?"

His smile was so wide and welcoming and threatening all the same. Subtly lowering the temperature in the area, so that they know he's not joking around. Though, when was he ever?

"Yes, sir."

* * *

For the first time in a while, the Ministry's Department of International Affairs is flooded with foreign guests and officials. One such was Chairman Maria Velásquez, who is not with the other foreign officials but with the Britain Ministry.

She shook her head at the thought of it, for now, the middle-aged woman found herself weaving through a crowd of wizards and witches alike when she found the Minister at her desk.

"Minister Fawley," she greeted, clearly not amused with his irregular visits to her office.

The Minister turned to her after clearly meddling with her desk, "Ah, Chairman Velásquez. To which do I owe pleasure?"

She rose a brow, "You're in my office, sir."

"Ah of course, well you see—I need a favor," he states, not even having any sort of shame or pride in his voice.

Maria deduced that what his favor is, is likely to be irrelevant and useless, and clearly will not benefit the Wizarding World of Britain. Because Ministers are figureheads that may have 'power' given by those in actual power.

"Your father, the late and honorable Auror, Edward Stone once set out in an expedition all over Europe and came back with…five children, am I correct?" He questioned.

"Yes sir."

"You are the oldest out of those children, correct?" he asked, trying to seem sophisticated as if Maria didn't already know what he was here for.

"Yes sir."

His face said to go on, as if he wanted her to elaborate on that.

"As you may know I was born and raised in Spain before getting adopted to Edward Stone, I joined him and met my other siblings," she elaborated, losing patience.

He stops, "And what about your other siblings?"

"My brother Ivan Sokolovsky is from Russia, he studies the Dark Arts. My sister Julia La Maupin is from France, she is the Herbology Professor at Beauxbatons. My other sister, Anaztaja Curie from Poland, is the owner of an apothecary. And lastly my younger brother Antony Carbonelle is a duelist from Italy," she breathes out. "Is that what you wanted, sir?"

"Quite so Chairman, thank you for your time," says the Minister before leaving.

He wanted foreign connections, and who else but the Spanish woman with adopted siblings all over Europe?

Maria Velásquez manages to fall down a cushioned seat, sank down in a slouch and gave one deep heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She misses it when she was young and had nothing to worry about.

* * *

In the deep dungeons of Hogwarts is the Slytherin Common Room, currently occupied by elitist Purebloods Andrea often avoided. Thankfully, she is more-or-less in good terms with them with her mother being in the Ministry and whatnot. Currently, she is in what's called a 'social battle', though it may like just a bunch of kids lounging around the common room, it's a battle for dominance and power through sharp words to elevate yourself.

It's a game Andrea didn't want to participate in. Although there are no sides, because if you contradict one of their opinions with no one powerful enough to back you up, you're dead.

Andrea might as well be dead because today's topic is _muggles_! What else?

"…in fact, muggles and mudbloods are, compared to us, far more likely to be poor, illiterate, on welfare, or in jail; they are far more likely to have illegitimate children, be addicted to drugs, or have other infectious diseases," said one Abraxas Malfoy, his statements was just…so eerily familiar and wrong at the same time.

Nonetheless, Andrea kept her face neutral while others seem to nod in agreement.

Orion Black leaned back, eyes closed and arms crossed. "By no definition of international competitiveness can the presence of these populations be anything but a disadvantage."

They then turned to her, as she had been silent this whole time, why don't they look at Lestrange instead?

These kids are at the point in their life where they transition from children to adults, and such try and mimic the adult society. Can Andrea blame them?

When she didn't say anything, "What about you, Andrea? What's your opinion the Ministry's stance?" asked one eager Druella Rosier.

Okay, game face. "In comparison to Spain, there is a large schism—You're either on one side, or you're on the other, nothing in between. Since its government is an autocratic republic, majority wins the vote. And it's mostly the case of 49 to 51," Andrea explained, not stating her solid opinion because that would give them ammunition, won't it? Besides, she's lying through her teeth—she's talking about _muggle _Spain. Well, not like there's any difference now, is there?

It's best to simply state observations. She continued, "Here, however, from what I gathered, it's at 70 to 30, or at least 80 to 20. There is no point in debating or fighting since you are already the majority—"

"Majority to mudbloods yes," Rosier cuts off. "It's more on the case of the Ministry's insistence on considering them a part of the Wizarding World. Not only are they a hazard to society—their barbaric culture is simply not fit!"

_That doesn't justify segregating them—_but surprisingly, it was Walburga Black who spoke.

"They're still _humans_ you know, and isn't it much better to introduce our culture to theirs and civilize them? Think of all the untapped opportunities!"

Malfoy scoffed, "You only say that because you pity them."

Walburga Black made a mock-offense face and ranted off and laughed but it seemed to drown out in Andrea's mind.

She looked at these people, no older than 17, already deciding what's morally right and just. And soon they will inherit their parent's influence and power. And soon they will continue their dynasty built on those same beliefs.

They're just kids. And that's frightening.

* * *

**A/N: **

mierda - shit. chapter title comes from the infamous my chemical romance song. if you've noticed the hamilton reference, congrats!

also, the shit malfoy and orion were talking about was pulled straight from a republican magazine, word for word, i just replaced 'hispanics and blacks' with 'muggles and mudbloods' and 'whites' as 'us and purebloods', where else would i get reference on textbook racism?


	4. chapter iii - this house is a circus

_She looked at these people, no older than 17, already deciding what's morally right and just. And soon they will inherit their parent's influence and power. And soon they will continue their dynasty built on those same beliefs._

_They're just kids. And that's frightening._

* * *

In the distant cold somewhere, a barren land of snow surrounds a small village—on fire. A man stumbles into his home, hurriedly gathered the scattered files and parchment into a suitcase. He hears a scream outside and immediately stands.

There is another man in his house, "What the fuck are you still doing here!?"

"_On ne dolzhen poluchit' eto!_" He shouts, grabbing kerosene from under the couch and splatters it all over the place. "_Ty idi! YA derzhu eto pod kontrolem!"_

The other splutters, "But I cursed you spea—"

"_Idti! Seychas!_" He screams, and it seemed to convinced the other man.

The other man ran into the fireplace as green flames erupted. He was gone, the man tore the fireplace down. His doors burst open, wizards in black cloaks point their wands but he runs and reaches for a flowerpot—

The portkey takes him right outside a large summer mansion. He falls to the grass, out of breath. The sunlight blares through his eyes but a silhouette towers over him.

"Mr. Sokolovsky? We're Aurors of the Britain Wizarding Ministry. You're under arrest."

"_Der'mo._"

* * *

"Speak English!" yelled the irritated Auror across the metal desk, his voice echoing in the interrogation room.

Mr. Sokolovsky, equally irritated says, "_Ya ne mogu!"_

The Auror flips his hands up and turns back with hands on his face, groaning in annoyance.

"Fuck this! If you can't prove you're not associated with Grindelwald I'll throw you in Azkaban!" he threatens, finger pointing at the Russian man.

Sokolovsky just gives him this deadpan look, "_Net, ne budesh'._"

The other Auror in the room looks at his partner in pity, "Let's just report this to boss and have someone else handle it. We're going nowhere."

"Fine, let's go."

Their superior officer, an old balding man—pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Have you tried lifting curses? A language barrier shouldn't stop you," suggested the old man to his two Aurors.

"Sir, we can't lift curses if we don't know what _kind_ of curse," said the brown-haired one. "And besides—"

"Excuse me sirs?" tapped the shoulder of the taller black-haired auror—a young woman. "Do you know where Chairman Velásquez's office is?"

The old man frowned, "Just hold on a second miss," he said to her as he faced his subordinates. "Do you have a name at least?"

"Yes sir, he said his name was Ivan Sokolovsky."

The woman's eyes widened, "Sokolo—Ivan? I know him!"

The three men snapped their heads at her, "You _know _him?" repeated the old man.

"Yes! He's my brother!"

The two Aurors looked at each other.

A minute later, Anaztaja found herself in the same interrogation room as her brother. She sighed as the two Aurors rattled of a report somewhere before she can clear up the misunderstanding, knowing she should just wait for their sister.

"This is your fault."

"_Otvali."_

* * *

Andrea made her way to the Great Hall with Euphy by her side. It's not uncommon to seat with other houses, plenty of people do it all the time. Especially Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. Hufflepuffs upholding their reputation as the friendliest House, but it's somewhat of a social rule in Slytherin to never seat in any other house except for Ravenclaw. Slytherins tolerate them somehow.

Not like she'd give a shit on what other people think on where she goddamn sits. (She does). Andy looks up to Euphy, mindlessly sipping from her goblet and staring at something behind her.

"What are you looking at?" Andy asked, Euphy looking back a bit shy and red.

She stammered for a second, "Merricks. Lucas Merricks," Euphy answered.

The Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain? "Why?"

"Just be grateful I'm not staring at Riddle," Euphy deadpanned. Andrea gagged.

The blonde rolled her eyes at her friend's exaggeration, "Andy, stop being dramatic."

"I know, I'm just glad that you don't swoon over the bastard," Andy assures. "He reminds me of a psychopath."

Euphy rose a brow at this, "Just remind me to give you a couple of muggle psychology books. They're an interesting read."

"Andy, just because I am a Ravenclaw does not mean I like to read all the time," Euphy explains, tone bordering on annoyance. Andy grinned.

"Alright I won't send you the books then—" "—wait that's not what I mea—"

Andy laughed. "I know, I know, I was just joking with you."

Euphy hides the flush of her cheeks by pretending to drink. "Sometimes I wonder why we're friends."

_Sometimes I wonder why we're --, I don't know how we ended up like this—_

"Because you love me," said Andy, burying her thoughts with a smile.

Euphy sighed, "Well, it's no surprise that _one time_ I leave you alone in Defense class you came back with bruises and scrapes."

"That was thetime Professor Merrythought suddenly declared all lessons from now on to be hands-on. And besides, I'm pretty sure he was out to kill me," said Andy, twirling the knife in hand.

"Why _did_ the lessons change?" she curiously asked.

Andy gave a confident smile, "It's because the Headmaster told her to. Remember when there was a commission held? Right after that, Professor Merrythought was called to the office.

"We had Defense later that day, but that changed. I think the Ministry just wants to encourage more students to become Aurors to defeat Grindelwald," Andy concluded with a flash of a toothy grin.

Euphy leans against the table and asks, "What's it with you and conspiracy theories?"

"Just for fun. Imagine believing a lie your whole life, how fucked up would _that_ be?"

* * *

Maria Velásquez pinched the bridge of her nose, "How the _fuck_ did my siblings—a famous potions master and a dark arts professor—end up getting arrested by mediocre aurors?"

Ivan shrugged as he sank down in the comfortable leather chairs.

"I don't know Mari, how did Ivan get cursed to speak Russian?" Ana sarcastically mocked, standing up and looking at the trinkets in the room.

"It vas _one _time. And it vas necessary—" countered the Russian man.

"—or maybe it's your crippling paranoia." Ana finished it for him.

"Or maybe my crippling paranoia," Ivan agreed. "But, it vas to enzure no one vould zuspect me."

Maria understood his explanation, however she said, "Nonetheless, you should have thought about a situation like this happening."

While the two were talking, the Polish woman walked around the room and saw a framed photograph of the whole Stone family. All five siblings young and bright-eyed. She smiled at the nostalgia.

"How is Antony and Julia?" Ivan asked, standing beside Ana and admiring the photo.

Maria looked at a painting by Julia, a landscape of Valencia in a midsummer morning. "They said they'll be in time for Christmas."

A memory flashed in Ana's head. "Do you remember in Christmas, Maria stuck her tongue to a metal spoon—and father thought it was because of the cold—but it's actually because Antony had a sticking charm to—"

"We're not fourteen anymore. Act like it," Maria said, stern and unamused.

"You're just old," Ana snickered, with Ivan muffling giggles.

"I _am _the oldest," the Chairman stated. "And I have a daughter."

Ivan took the framed photo beside the Stone family one, he stared at a young Maria and an empty-eyed seven-year old Andrea. Maria's daughter looked so sickly, frail, and malnourished. Far different from the Andrea now.

"Have you told her yet?" Ivan whispered, loud enough for all of them to hear.

Maria glanced away, grasping her arms with tight hands. Her pursed lips and refusal to look them in the eye gave the answer.

Ana walked up to her and held her shoulders, "You need to tell her this Christmas break. The sooner the more worse it would be."

"I know."

* * *

It was not the first time Andy and Riddle were partners in potions class. Slughorn was always insistent on pairing them together, as if hoping their mildly antagonistic view of each other would simply disappear.

Of course, after the duel, things were worse. Well, they _seem _worse. They won't outright say they hate each other right in front of a teacher and classmates—but the subtlety of a too-wide smile and a slightly sarcastic voice with intentions to humiliate the other were far too great of an offer than being blunt.

Today, they were brewing a Wiggenweld Potion. Easy enough task for both of them. Though Andrea's pretty sure he's forming a plan in his head that involves damaging her grades and reputations without her dragging down his.

Talking is minimal unless necessary. Riddle volunteered to do the ingredient preparation as Andy placed the cauldron in heat. Out of the corner of her eye she sees him—

"No! You don't break the bark," she says, stopping him before he does, suddenly pursing her lips in regret for overstepping in a minor mistake.

He gives her…this mocking look. "Really? How do you suppose it fit in the cauldron then? It needs to be fully submerged."

She takes the Wiggenweld bark and places it in the boiling cauldron, "You place it and let the heat bend it before submerging it quickly. Breaking the bark would release more than necessary properties."

Riddle only hummed as a reply, the two felt watchful gazes on them, still, Andrea continues, "After the bark, the cauldron only needs to simmer, not boil. That will give us enough time to prepare the ingredients—right?"

"Right. Of course," he affirms, tilting his head slightly as a subtle insult, they both turn and work on their stations.

When Slughorn hovers over their cauldron, give usual appraise and compliments and points, Riddle doesn't observe the reactions of his classmates—he observes _her._ She tries to ignore the burning gaze at the literal back of her head as she bows down and continues to chop the Moly flowers.

_Do your goddamn work and stop staring at me!_ She wants to scream, but keeps her lips tight and sealed as she knows he knows that she's aggressively hitting the knife on the chopping board loud enough for him and everyone else in the room.

But then some student shouts in the corner—Andrea looked up to see the students trying to take a good look behind her, when she turns—she sees two things:

A cauldron is overflowing with green foam.

And her classmates heads turned to the accident—except Riddle. who's facing her directly. Why is he looking at her—

_Accident—when Andy fell from the vineyard wall—when Maria patches up the scratches on her knees—when Andy broke Maria's winery—LOOK AWAY!_

Her eyes snap back at the finely chopped flowers, she tries so bad not to let the snarl form on her face. This is the second time he does this. She hears Slughorn lecture on the student and fix the mess. Tom's gaze still hissing even though she hears his clattering and movements.

She rationalizes in her head.

_I have nothing to hide. Nothing to be afraid of. Search all you want Riddle, I don't know what the fuck you want with me but I know the consequences. Whatever mess or fiasco you're trying to start—fucking watch me Riddle._

_Watch me._

* * *

**a/n: **introduction of ivan and ana! russian translations, all google translated im sorry:

_"On ne dolzhen poluchit' eto" _(He should not have it!)

_"Ty idi! YA derzhu eto pod kontrolem" _(You go! I have this under control!)

_"Idti! Seychas!" _(Go! Now!)

"Speak English!" "_Ya ne mogu!" _(I can't!)

"Fuck this! If you can't prove you're not associated with Grindelwald I'll throw you in Azkaban!" "_Net, ne budesh'._" (No, you won't).

"This is your fault" "_Otvali" _(Fuck off)

chapter title comes from arctic monkey's 'this house is a circus'. there's an ocean's 11 reference here, and also a fairly obvious quirrel reference. hope you enjoyed the chapter, please point out any mistakes i made, and read and review, thanks!


	5. chapter iv - run

_I have nothing to hide. Nothing to be afraid of. Search all you want Riddle, I don't know what the fuck you want with me but I know the consequences. Whatever mess or fiasco you're trying to start—fucking watch me Riddle._

_Watch me._

* * *

**TW: BODY HORROR AND HOLOCAUST. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

After that encounter, a series of similar events happened after that. Andrea knew she said that 'fight me' shit in her head, but now facing the consequences of…whatever the fuck kind of situation fate or destiny set her in—she can safely say she regrets it.

Riddle—she _knows _it's Riddle, always pull _some_ shit on her. Not badly enough that it's obvious and never severe enough to make a case out of it. But enough to always inconvenience her.

Monday, after class hours, almost every book in the library concerning the assigned topic is reserved…under Tom Riddle. Who coincidentally subs in another Prefect's monitoring duties while Andrea was looking for him.

Tuesday. Her telescope in astronomy tower mysteriously had a few loose screws and breaks during their practical test. Coincidentally, it's been hexed to have immunity to the _Reparo_ spell as they were learning telescope maintenance. Also coincidentally, no extra telescopes were found. She saw Tom smirk at her frustration.

Wednesday. Care of Magical Creatures, an apparently random snake appeared and scared the shit out of her. Her classmates laughed, being a Slytherin and all, and was just told by the Professor "it's just a normal garden snake." Garden snakes do not wander in the goddamn Forbidden Forest, _especially_ near the clearing. With all the acromantula being their predator and whatnot. Andrea theories that it was summoned, her year _was _learning advanced summoning. Wouldn't you know it, _Tom_ scored first in the summoning practical test.

Thursday. Arithmacy. Despite finally having a complete set of 5-hour sleep, she still somehow managed to feel sleepy and drowsy. Coincidentally, Tom sat beside her reeking with chamomile, a drowsiness potion scent. Her head fell and banged on the table—everyone laughing and leaving Andrea with the simultaneous feeling of embarrassment and ache on her forehead. Her favorite Professor gave her quite a lecture.

Friday morning, her first thought wondering what's Tom going to pull this time. She drags herself out of bed and continues her morning routine. She liked waking up earlier than her roommates, but despising the constant tiredness and lack of sleep looming on her back. Coupled with all the projects, homework, constant maintenance for her social life, and fucking _Tom_—

Breathe.

Fortunately, majority of the people present in the Great Hall seem to share her sour mood. Though it does manage to lift a bit as she sees the incoming owl—Andrea eagerly opens the letter from her mother. It was noticeably thick—probably a copy of the Daily Prophet, she set it aside as she read her mother's letter.

It was the usual rantings about the ongoings in the Ministry. The only thing new was that her mother informed her about how Uncle Ivan and Auntie Ana had just arrived, well and safe, and tells her to read the article. And despite the letter being written, Andrea felt the wariness seeping through her mother's words.

Now curious, she folds the article open and the first thing she sees is a bold black headline that screams:

"_GRINDELWALD ATTACKS VILLAGE IN SIBERIA, TEN DEAD, SIX WOUNDED"_

Andrea was reminded of the life outside these walls. A moment ago she was complaining about homework, a moment ago she felt safe, a moment ago she built a wall of normalcy and simplicity. Where she was just a sixteen-year-old girl in school.

Of course, nothing was ever that simple.

People are dying. It is war after all.

She wonders.

How many people out there are struggling? How many people died? How many mothers are waiting for her sons? A wife her husband? Children their fathers?

She never understood violence and the people justifying it. So many times she's been called naïve and childish for holding onto her idealistic pacifist views, it was something you'd pity seeing in a child, how their world hasn't been tainted yet—but not what you'd see in a teenager now.

That part of life where they act like they've experienced it but most of them haven't. They talk of war and tragedies to elevate their social status of being mature and wise, to imitate adults and mimic their society.

Andrea saw it firsthand. And never in her life will she understand it. Call it hypocrisy, after dueling Riddle last week and sending each other to the infirmary—despite Riddle's psychopathic habits and behavior, she could never kill him for it. She wonders why. Why have these thoughts now? Why forget them?

Was she simply choosing to live in a tiring ignorant bliss or was it that the constant chain of misery, anger, and death seem to paint her in a grey apathy and forgetfulness?

_Dachau._

Andrea…she lost her appetite.

She knows she needs energy to last the day but she's willing to fake a headache and collapse on the infirmary bed. Andrea sighs, and heads toward back into the dungeon. Most of the professors are preparing lesson plans, prefects and a few others are the only students awake. It's safe to say that the halls would be empty.

So, out of _all_ the people awake. Andrea Velásquez turns a corner and comes across Riddle.

She knew the chances of bumping into Tom was fairly high, him being a prefect and a fucking monster who wakes earlier than she does. Nonetheless, it felt staged.

After all, Tom is here, back straight, hair neatly combed, with smooth unwrinkled clothes—looking like an eerily smiling wax figured statue. In contrast to her bedhead tied back, wrinkled clothes, tired slouching figure and sour face.

"Velásquez. Good morning to you."

"Riddle. Good morning as well."

She didn't have the energy to put up with him and his plastered smile, so she merely walked past him. The eyes still on her. Creep.

"Velásquez, you forgot something," he said out of nowhere, she stops in her tracks.

Andrea turns, and he's holding a piece of parchment, _that's mother's letter_—how the fuck— "Give me that!"

Just as she stomps over to grab it, he pulls it away. She reaches further but Riddle is only _slightly _taller than her. They're the same fucking height!

"What are you? A child? Give me my fucking letter!" She mutters, it was loud enough for him to hear as they were inches close.

Tom ignores the first part, "I will—on one condition."

Andrea steps back, arms crossed, brow raised.

"Look into my eyes—" Tom begins, but she cuts him off, scoffing.

"Oh fuck that, keep the letter. There's nothing important in it anyway."

Big fat lie. One translation spell and a few deciphers, her mother would chop her head off.

Andrea turns and acts nonchalant, when the panic and nervousness seep into her. What the fuck does he want to know? If her mother finds out, it's 50/50 that her mother would believe her lie saying it got stolen. Streisand effect, the more you try to hide something, the more obvious it becomes.

She bites her lip, needing something to chew on. For now she needs to rest a bit.

* * *

Tom is back at the dreary orphanage. He thought he escaped this hole. It's the same as he left it. Rotting wood, mossy stone, dead grey skies, and equally worthless, immature children and matrons.

He wanders for a while, wanting to get away from the foul stench of feces reeking the rooms, but it still clings onto him. Tom then finds a girl, staring up at the sky.

She seems to have heard him, as her head turns and looks at Tom.

He'd heard of her, orphaned daughter of an American soldier, who had somehow stumbled to London. She, like him, often called a 'freak' for simply being more competent, advanced, and intelligent than the other children, and even most of the matrons.

But unlike him, she's quiet, like a guilty person with many things to hide. The sense of déjà vu seem to swirl in his head.

She stares at him, distant, silent. Almost familiar to Tom. Then she asks, "Are you okay?"

Tom was confused. He didn't have any visible bruises or scrapes. Was she being vague on purpose? "What do you mean? I'm not hurt."

"You know many things. You learned those things. And often the things we learn stay because they hurt."

What is she on about? Why does this all feel familiar? He _knows _her.

"Who are you?" Tom asked.

Her name…Hannah Martins? No…Angelica Martins?

The girl tilted her head, a small smile on her face. He _knows _this. He _knows _her name. What's her name?

Angela? An…na? Anna?

"You already know."

_Andy_.

He wakes up, the buzzing wand and flickering light tells him it's five in the morning. Tom is in his dormitory. Dim-lit and muffled snoring. Green curtains and silver silk bedsheets.

Tom sits up, hand on his head.

There are similarities, yes. But that's it. Her name was Anna Martins. The daughter of a dead American soldier. The wise and quiet child in the orphanage. The girl who was taken away.

The first ever friend of Tom. He…can manage, without her. Such luxuries don't ever last. A person to confide and understand with on an equal standing will only show weakness.

Velásquez was very much like Anna. That's what made Tom curious in the first place. Same age. Similar names. Similar faces, if Velásquez's skin was lighter. Similar voices, though different accents. Anna kept to herself, Velásquez saw to every opportunity and moment be left with unnecessary vulgar language.

Though speaking of Velásquez…they haven't talked in a while, have they?

* * *

In the following week after the duel, Tom found himself observing a certain girl in Defense class. The moment Professor Merrythought announced they were re-discussing boggarts—Velásquez was tense and nervous.

Tom wondered whether or not Professor Merrythought was either very brilliant or extremely idiotic for making sixteen-year-olds face their biggest fear. He didn't have to face his, nor would he show it to anyone. Tom is sure some incident will occur and Merrythought would dismiss the class early.

Perhaps it's one of the muggleborns who had seen war. Perhaps it's one of the purebloods—he would take his bet on Edmond Lestrange—than boy had to be suffering some degree of mental illness.

Tom smiled at the thought of knowing everyone's weaknesses, but of course didn't show it. No matter how tempted he was.

"…no matter anyone's fear is—that is not something to be mocked or discriminate by. Any questions?"

Delacroix raised her hand, "What if we don't know what our fear is?"

"You'll find out."

Merrythought ordered them to fall in line, Tom observed those who were confident and others anxious muttering the counter spell over and over. He kept his face neutral with his usual confident self.

It was an interesting sight, seeing his classmates' reactions and fears. Some were simple and given, dragons, monsters, a nuclear warhead—which was by far the most interesting one. But there was a certain eagerness rising in his chest waiting for Velásquez. It was her before him.

He wondered what her fear was—Grindelwald, perhaps. Or maybe something boring like her loved ones dying. Maybe she's afraid of death—he'd certainly love to see her face like that.

It's her turn now. Nervous and unsure of what her true fear actually is. She steps forward and it morphs.

What…was that?

Stacks of wood—?

No.

_No_.

They were _corpses_ with limbs thin to the bone. Skin pale, muddied, and ashen. Stacked like garbage. The foul and putrid scent of rotting corpses and shit reek the air. She staggered back, bile rising in her throat. She doesn't scream. She doesn't cry. She stares with wide eyes.

One of the corpses fall and lands right on her feet. A bare naked woman beaten, bruised, and starved, stares back at her with glassy eyes.

…Mama?

_No. No. No. I'm next—I'm next in line—RUN! _

She needs to get out of Dachau. Run, just run. Don't look. She'll slow down. The bile curls up in her throat, she stumbles down a corridor, and vomits in the sink.

Sweat drenches her, heart still pounding. Tight eyes closed shut but still seeing _the stacks of bodies—_

Andrea wants someone to hold her. Comfort her. Tell her everything's going to be alright. Mama. She wants her mama. She wants Uncle Tony and Ivan. Auntie Ana and Julia. She wants to go back home. But home is gone. They're not here. Who is here? Where is she?

The bitter cold tears her inside out. She's shivering. Shaking. She wants—she wants—_Jane_.

"Andy!"

Jane? No, no, that's—

"Euphy?"

She's held in a warm embrace. A tight embrace. Andrea Velásquez comes to her senses.

Right. Hogwarts. War. Riddle. Class. Boggart. _Dachau_—

Andrea pushed back Euphy and vomited in the bathroom sink. Bathroom. Fourth Floor. Defense. Hogwarts. Safe. She's safe.

"Andy, listen to me." Euphy held her face with her hands. "It's okay. You're safe."

_"You're safe."_

* * *

**A/N: **

chapter title comes from hozier.

so yeah that happened. dachau was the first ever concentration camp built in germany, 1933, near munich. but andrea and her mother were not jewish, so how could andrea have 'experienced it first hand?', well to quote :

"Also set for extermination were members of any group considered by Hitler to be ill-equipped to reside in the new Germany. Among them were artists, intellectuals and other independent thinkers; communists, Jehovah's Witnesses and others who were ideologically opposed to theNazi Party; homosexuals and others who were viewed as sexually deviant; Gypsies; the physically and mentally handicapped; and anyone else considered to be racially or physically impure."

no, her father was/is not jewish. i'd like to hear your thoughts on this! i'd like to also hear your guesses as to how andrea ended up in dachau!


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